Horror Stories
by LillyRose054
Summary: A series of OneShots starring the Twilight characters that may or may not send chills down your spine and make the hairs at the nape of your neck stand up.
1. Chapter 1: Motel

_Horror Stories_ will be a series of OS's starring the Twilight characters that may or may not send chills down your spine and make the hairs at the nape of your neck stand up.

Please review and tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: Twilight is not mine yada yada yada...

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><p><strong>~~~<br>Motel  
>~~~ <strong>

One night, Jasper, who had been driving since morning, was getting tired and needed some sleep. Soon, he came to a small motel, and decided to pull in for the night. When he went in and asked for a room, the manager looked at him with a frown and told him, "We only have one room left, and I'm not sure you'll want it." Before the man could say anything, the manager went on. "There was a murder a few years ago in the room next door."

Jasper, being as exhausted as he was, said he didn't care. He took the room key.

When he hopped into bed, he heard a strange beat from the room next door. The warning of the motel owner ran through his mind, but in the end his curiosity got the better of him. He got up from his bed, and went to the motel room next to his. The music was clearer now, and the man decided to look through the small keyhole on the door to see if he could see anything. There was a young woman with her back to him, dressed in all white, and dancing by herself. Jasper stared for a while, grinned, and then headed back to bed.

Later that night, he was woken up by the sound of music. Curious about why the girl was still up, he went to look through the keyhole again. But this time all he could see was red.

He didn't think much of it, just that a drape or something had fallen, blocking his view. He went back to bed and slept through the night.

In the morning, as he was checking out, Jasper's thoughts wandered to the dancing girl; he wondered if the murder story was just a hoax. He casually asked the manager about it. The manager responded, "The girl who was murdered was such a sweet young girl. Loved her music, and always played it before bed."

"Oh, really?" Jasper asked, his stomach feeling uneasy.

"Yes. There was only one strange thing that I will never forget about her… She had red eyes."


	2. Chapter 2: Mirrors

Here's the second chapter. Updates will come when ideas do so no guaranteeing when the next chapter will be up. But hopefully soon.

Read, enjoy, review!

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><p><strong>~~~<br>Mirrors  
>~~~ <strong>

The silence pressed in like a blanket on her face. Several times she thought she was suffocating to death and she would claw at its nonexistent mass in an effort to remove it, and every time she would suck in the air and realize she was fine. The mirrors grinned and hissed at her without marring the stillness, silently whispering things she didn't want to hear.

_"You did it."_

She shook her head. "No, no, not me. Never."

Bright eyes stared at her, laughing.

_"Yes, Rosalie. Look at her, don't tell us you didn't. The proof is there."_

"You don't understand!" she cried. "We needed this."

_"You needed this."_

_Shush, hush_, she thought and ignored the mirrors. They never agreed with her anyhow.

She admired the golden hair that splayed across the cement like frozen waves. Fading waves. No, no, they were shining, beautiful. Yes, beautiful. Always beautiful. It was the reason she had to have them. Quickly she put the razor near the girl's scalp and with a single swipe cut the gold off. It fell like water.

"It would have been easier if you gave it to me when I asked," she said.

The mirrors said something then, but she didn't listen. But she couldn't stop herself from hearing them chuckle.

She cut more gold waves from her scalp. Carefully, she brushed a strand away from her neck.

Red. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red.

Bad color.

"You see, now I have to be extra careful so as not to get it dirty," she scolded. The girl didn't say a word, but she stared. Her half-closed lids were a bruised purple. Her skin was white, but still warm. Rosalie shuddered involuntarily, and she yelled at the girl to stop, to stop looking at her that way. The girl didn't blink. She didn't say anything. She just stared.

"It's your fault! It's your fault! I would never! Not me! Stop! Stop looking at me!"

The mirrors were in hysterics. She gathered the locks into a bag and kicked the girl away. Her head turned so she was looking at the shrieking walls. Swiftly she tore the hearth bricks out. She did it loudly so she wouldn't hear the mirrors. Those cursed mirrors! Shut up! She thought furiously. She positioned her in the crevice she created.

"Shhh, shhh," she whispered softly as she bent the neck of the girl at an odd angle to make it fit. "Shhh, shhh. No one will find you now."

She covered the girl, watching her disappear with every brick.

"Not me."

But it was her.

The girl's face peeked out at her. For an instant, Rosalie could have sworn she smiled.

The mirrors roared with laughter. She bricked up the face quickly. Gone, gone... except for the gold.

"It's mine now, see?" she told the bricks. The gray-violet eyes behind the bricks; the silent remains of a consequence. The mirrors continued with their laughter.

"Shut up! Shut up! Why are you laughing at me? STOP!"

Rosalie bared her teeth in frustration, the tips glistening with revenge, and started tearing through the mirrors. Reflections split into pieces. Glass shattered and fell on her like sharp rain. Her gold hair and gold eyes glared up at her from all different angles. There was so much gold. So much. Mixed with deep crimson it appeared even more beautiful. So beautiful. She kept going, desperate for it. She wanted it, so she took it.

Sharp metal pierced her chest.

And then ended the laughing.


	3. Chapter 3: The Nightmare

**~~~  
><strong>**The Nightmare  
>~~~ <strong>

Alice sat up in bed, a cold sweat rolling down her back. The room was dark and the alarm clock read that it was only 11:09 p.m. That damn dream woke her up again. She had been having the same dream for weeks. She could never remember what it was about, only that it scared the hell out of her. Her eyes wandered to the ceiling; the knocking sound from the attic started up again. Every time that nightmare ended and she woke up, that stupid knocking sound started. Was it paranoia? Whatever it was, she was tired of it.

She got out of bed, determined that this time she would find out what was making that noise.

Upon exiting her room, she realized that the light bulb from the lamp at the end of the hall, the one near the attic door, was once again lying on the floor. With a sigh, she headed to the dark corner, picked it up and screwed it back in place. The light did not come back on. Alice cursed, walked into the kitchen and got herself a flashlight. Then she returned to the end of the hallway and proceeded up the stairs that lead to the attic.

The creak in every wooden step had always happened. But this time, clouds of dust rose up and surrounded Alice. She wondered how long it's been since she's been up here as she coughed and wheezed her way into the dark, holding one hand out in front of her body to ward off cobwebs. She finally reached the top. Shining the light about the attic, she realized why she didn't come up here often. Every thing was covered in nearly an inch of dirt and dust. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and spiders beat a hasty retreat from the light. Broken chairs and old picture frames littered the room, boxes full of god-knows-what were piled up to the roof.

Alice began making her way to the back, toward the vent that also acted as a window to the outside. The room was larger than he remembered. It seemed as if it would never reach the end. Finally, it did. Touching the wall, Alice looked behind her. The shock was almost too much.

The other side of the attic had a medium sized table with a sewing machine and piles of colorful fabric, spools of thread, and needles, buttons and zippers. Beside these things was a fashion designer's mannequin.

Next to that, there was a man in a blue morning robe. He was busy making something. He was old, his once raven hair now streaked with gray. He had wrinkly, sagging skin and his body looked weak.

A sudden curiosity overtook Alice, and she walked forward.

The man's body was shaking. At first Alice thought he was sobbing, then she realized he was laughing. She couldn't imagine why.

Reaching forward with her left hand, she touched the old man's shoulder timidly. He whirled around.

It took all of Alice's self-control not to scream. His face and arms were covered in black and blue wounds, oozing blood. His eyes had a demented gleam in them. In his sore covered hands, he gripped a knife. Alice was paralyzed. The man raised the knife in the air and, laughing, brought it down into her chest.

Alice sat up in bed, a cold sweat rolling down her back. The room was dark and the alarm clock read that it was only 11:09 p.m. That damn dream woke her up again. She had been having the same dream for weeks. She could never remember what it was about, only that it scared the hell out of her. Her eyes wandered to the ceiling; the knocking sound from the attic started up again. Every time that nightmare ended and she woke up, that stupid knocking sound started. Was it paranoia? Whatever it was, she was tired of it.


	4. Chapter 4: Him

**~~~  
><strong>**Him  
>~~~ <strong>

Esme sat at the computer, shivering slightly. The thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders slipped, exposing bare skin. Her shirt was too large; it fell off her shoulder, draping itself around her arm. She would have pulled the shirt up, then the blanket, to obtain more warmth. She would have...except there were more important things on her mind.

Looking up toward the ceiling, she held her breath, refusing to make any noise. She wasn't imagining it, it was there. Again. Just moving quietly...

There!

A creak above her head, near the upstairs bathroom. He was there. He was moving slower this time...

A burning pain made her exhale slowly, ever so slowly. With the same deliberation she drew her breath back in. No one was home, again. He never came if anyone was ever home. Didn't matter, really. He'd be gone soon enough, and she would be able to call her friends. Her parents. And then go upstairs. He never came when she was upstairs. Why?

Another creak. A few feet in front of the last one. Moving, moving. Good. The faster he moved, the sooner he'd be gone. If only she knew why he was-

She sneezed. She couldn't help it. She was sick; some nasty cold. The sound of the sneeze echoed throughout the room.

The creaking stopped. She held her breath again. Maybe he hadn't heard her. Maybe. Oh please, maybe...

He ran. It wasn't a creak; it was now footsteps. Heavy footsteps. He heard her. He was coming after her. Footsteps in the family room, not the kitchen, laundry room...

The door to the basement opened. Footsteps again. Someone was coming down. But she was alone. No one else was home. Praying that he would look back here, she backed into a corner in the room. Don't come back here. Don't come back here...

She saw him go by, or felt him, more precisely, in the other room. A faint distortion in the air. Like smoke on a hot day. But he walked just by. He didn't look into this room. Maybe it was an add on. Maybe he didn't know it existed.

He came back, as if to leave. And stopped. And turned. And looked right at her. Eyes widening, she opened her mouth to scream. But couldn't. He was too fast. He was there before she could.

And everything was in flames.


	5. Chapter 5: Always There

Ok I just wanted to mention how much I appreciate your reviews and the fact you like _Horror Stories_. :) Now onward...

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><p><strong>~~~<br>****Always There  
>~~~<strong>

A long time ago Aro and Didyme were in love, and together they had a son. Little Marcus adored his mother, and loved being around her.

Didyme loved her husband dearly, but when she found out that Aro'd been unfaithful to her, the two had a fierce argument. No matter what was said, they couldn't find a way to settle things. Didyme, angered, threw her wedding ring out the window. In a fit of rage, Aro retaliated and hit his wife, killing her.

Realizing what he'd done, Aro knew he had to hide the body. If he didn't, he would be arrested and he could never fully live the life that he wanted. He had to get rid of the body as soon as possible if he was to get away with this crime.

Then he thought of his son. His son, who adored his mother. He wondered how he would keep it a secret from the boy. He thought that he could lie and say she was on a trip, but the chance to tell Marcus quickly passed. So Aro said nothing, and waited for Marcus to ask him about it.

The next day came, and as Marcus walked to the corner to wait for the bus for school, something caught his eyes. It was his mother's ring.

Days passed. Aro dreaded coming home day after day, wondering when Marcus would ask where his mother was. It drove the man crazy knowing his son would ask sooner or later. It was made worse when the boy never did. After a week, Aro couldn't take it anymore. He asked Marcus: "Aren't you lonely without mom around?"

Marcus looked at his father for a moment and replied: "But Mom's always been right next to you."

Aro slowly turned around, and there was Didyme, looking at him.


	6. Chapter 6: Grave Directions

**~~~  
><strong>**Grave Directions  
>~~~<strong>

The wheels splashed in the wet mud as the headlights tried to cut through the thick fog and rain. At each turn he took, the road seemed to wind deeper into the woods.

Why did he come this way? He swore that never again would he allow his sense of adventure for shortcuts deviate him from the main road. And now look what's happened: he was already an hour late for dinner, he didn't have a clue where he was, and the worsening storm wasn't making it easier.

He checked his watch again: 8 o'clock.

At last, he spotted an old man walking along the side of the road. He stopped the car alongside the man and rolled down the window.

"Excuse me. Do you know the way to Forks?"

The old man slowly turned his head and fixed his eyes on the driver's. There was something unsettling about the man's look. His cold black eyes and morbid expression sent a shiver down Emmett's spine. His face was almost bereft of flesh, revealing nothing more than wet skin and hair sticking to the contours of his skull.

"There is a fork in the road half a mile ahead. Follow the sign to the main road and you shall find your way."

The driver stared down the road and tried to pierce the thickness of the weather, but to no avail. He turned around to face the man and thank him for his help, but the man had disappeared. The surroundings were once again empty, no sign or trace had been left. The driver felt a stab of unease, and he quickly rolled up the window and drove off.

Who was that man? And what was he doing in a night like this in the middle of nowhere?

He shrugged it off. It wasn't his business.

The rain splashed endlessly on the windscreen, blanketing his view with a haze of mist.

"Where is that damn fork?" he thought, growing increasingly impatient. Had he accidentally passed it? The storm made it impossible to tell.

Suddenly a figure arose from the darkness in front of the car. The driver yelled, swerving to the left. But it was too late. The front right corner of the car hit the person and the body was thrown down the ditch off the side of the road. The driver screeched to a halt and scrambled out of the car, looking around. He was really starting to panic this time.

For a minute he stood there in silence and stared down the ditch covered in the fog. "Hello!" he cried into the emptiness. A cold sweat covered his brow, and the fear and anxiety started to well up inside him. "Are you all right?"

But that was a stupid question. Of course whomever it was wasn't all right!

He stumbled down the side of the ditch and hoped that this was all just a bad dream. At the bottom he looked around frantically to see if he could find whomever it was he hit. But fear clutched his heart when instead he discovered the remains of a broken tombstone with words that read:

Emmett McCarty  
>11 Aug. 1992 - 31 Oct. 2012<br>Throat sliced for intruding.

Unfortunately for the driver, his name so happened to be Emmett McCarty. And that was his birthday. And _that_ was today's date. And as he backed away in horror, he felt his jaw grasped by a cold, strong hand, and something sharp passed silently over his throat. With his last breath he heard a wild cackle fill the air, and the echo of a howl before everything finally went blank.

Forks Forest had claimed another victim.


End file.
